In 1952, the 67.5 ton Boeing Stratocruiser cost a (then) whopping $1.5 million. With a 3,000 mile range, this craft–first delivered to PanAm–offered up luxury as few commercial passengers had seen before: a galley, a lower-deck lounge, sleeping berths, a forward stateroom, and more.

Truly a case of “swords to ploughshares,” the Stratocruiser was “developed from the C-97 Stratofreighter, a military derivative of the B-29 Superfortress used for troop transport,” according to Wikipedia.

Or as a promo film from that time says, “from bomber to boudoir,” referring to the powder room accommodations for women.

Naturally, in the popular press of the time, Consolidated Vultee’s B-24 Liberator bomber would be hailed as a magnificent fighting machine, capable of plowing down any obstacle like cutting through butter.

While the B-24 did have its strong points, crew members had a different angle on the craft. Lately, I have been reading Laura Hillenbrand’s book Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption. The person who is the centerpiece of the book, Louis Zamperini, who was a B-24 bombardier, says that the B-24 was called other names by crew members, such as “The Constipated Lumberer,” “The Flying Coffin,” and “The Flying Brick.”

Even though I like Ray Pioch, his 1951 cutaway drawing of this fanciful atomic airplane really isn’t very good. It’s got the typical middle-of-magazine two-color scheme, and the perspectives within this so-called atomic airplane are all wrong.

That said, it was predicted that, by 1980, atomic-powered jets would already be in use. However, more realistically, it was said that the nuclear power plant would be so heavy (about 50 tons) that it would cost as much in terms of weight as a petroleum-fueled plane (power plant replacing fuel).

Another problem: a radioactive engine being dangerous to the flight crew, extensive and heavy shielding would have to be added.

You’re looking at a Douglas Skymaster C-54M that has been converted into a 32 litter (bed) “Flying Hospital.”

At the time this cutaway was drawn, the Korean War was in full force. Rather than taking wounded soldiers home by ship or rail, Military Air Transport Service’s (MATS) C-54M took them home far faster and in better conditions.

Litters were a bit cramped (18.5 inches vertical clearance for each patient), but the “Flying Hospital” did have other superior accommodations, such as a full nurse’s station, air-conditioning, and galley for preparation of hot meals.

Where’s the pilot? Well, maybe it’s not a plane. Maybe it’s a missile of some sort. But then, where’s the warhead?

You’re looking at a G.H. Davis cutaway drawing, 1956, of a Leduc 021 ramjet aircraft. No pilot, no warhead.

The Leduc 021 was carried up by a Languedoc airliner, Space Shuttle-style, and then released. The Leduc’s maximum ceiling was 65,000.

The reason for this unusual launch was because the Leduc used a ramjet instead of a rotary compresser (like you see on passenger jets) to force (i.e., ram) the much-needed air into the engine. The jet had to build up a certain minimum airspeed in order for the jet to fire.

A nice G.H. Davis cutaway (note “France” added just above his signature) of a French Baroudeur SE-5000.

See the landing gear on the Baroudeur? No? That’s because the Baroudeur (roughly translated to “adventurer”) is leaving its landing gear behind on the ground. That’s right, the SE-5000 carried no gear, instead relying on a wheeled trolley to assist its takeoff. It landed on grassy fields on skids. This cutaway drawing shows the skids retracted.

Developed for NATO, this lightweight fighter, with a range of 1,500 miles, never entered production.

The Comet was quite a big deal when it was unveiled in 1950. Both Popular Mechanics (Popular Mechanics’ deHavilland Comet Cutaway) and Popular Science pulled out all “cutaway stops” to feature this luxurious liner of the skies.

Here, illustrator Jo Kotula tips the Comet to an angle rarely seen in aircraft cutaways.